The Uhuru Peak and back

From the stunning white beaches of Mombasa and the Kenyan coast the time had come to make the journey across the border with Tanzania through the Tsalvo National Park. I arrived in Moshi, covered in dust that floated off me like steam rising in freezing cold air, and stepped off the bus and headed to the Buffalo Hotel. Resting in the shadows of Africa’s largest mountain the next couple of days I would get glimpses of the ice-cap peak and the surround foothills ever reminding me of the massive undertaking I was about embark on.

My departure date was December 1st. I had booked this expedition several months in advance and, as you know, I had been preparing for hiking to the Uhuru Peak since before I left England back at the end of September. The culmination of all my efforts was about to be tested and on Wednesday morning at 9.50 am I was collected from the Buffalo Hotel by Ben and David. For the ext five days these two flamboyant Tanzania trekking guides would be the mainstay of my crew. Ben, my guide, is a 29 year old fellow from Mwanzi, Tanzania’s second largest city on the edge of Lake Victoria. David, by far the most loudly spoken and with the biggest grin is also from Mwanzi and would be my waiter/porter for the hike along the Marangu route.

The Marangu route, also known as the Coca-Cola route by locals and people who have hiked Kilimanjaro, is the most popular path to tread. Starting at 1970 metres above sea level we arrived at the Marangu gate after an hour’s drive around the base of Kili. It was a hot day with barely a cloud in the sky and I was raring to go. We signed in at the office and then for over two frustrating hours I had to wait before being able to set off due to a problem with the bank payment. Apparently a frequent problem in Tanzania it was a slightly disconcerting event made even more annoying as groups of people arrived after me and departed before. I ate my lunch and waited and waited until finally I was given the OK. Some time around 1.30 pm Ben and I set off along the wooded trail that ascends the mountainside.

The Marangu route is known as the Coca-Cola route for good reason. It is the only route that has huts and lodges for hikers to take shelter in, all the rest you must have your own tents to camp in, and you can also buy things like chocolates and, you guessed it, Cokes. It is the most popular route because of the huts but this doesn’t take away any of the potency of the difficulties you face.

The first days hike took us from 1970 metres to 2700 metres to the Mandara huts. 9 kilometres in distance you hike through a semi tropical forest. The sunlight beamed through gaps in the tree canopy whilst birds and insects carried on their daily lives. From stories I had heard from other travellers I was expecting there to be a continuous stream of people passing me in the other direction but I was pleasantly surprised when there were hardly any others on the trail except those that had departed before me from the entrance gate. We arrived at a clearing in the forest around two hours after we had left. I was at the Mandara huts already. I had expected the first day’s hike to be longer and more difficult but it had been more of a gentle stroll for the most part.

A short distance from the Mandara huts is the Maundi crater. An ancient volcanic vent crater on the eastern slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro it is now a dormant, or perhaps extinct, basin with views across Tanzania to the east, south and west and to the north lies Kenya. It also affords, when the sky is clear, views of the Mawenzi Peak. The second highest peak in the region formed from metamorphic rock it is no longer climbed due to the dangers of the soft rock that can give way underneath you without warning. It struck a domineering feature of the landscape.

 Like on Mount Kenya you are supplied with enormous amounts of food and liquids for the hike. It’s essential, especially on the first couple of days, to consume as much of this as possible. Sometimes altitude can kill your appetite and also affect you in others ways like experiencing acute mountain sickness (altitude sickness) leading to very upset stomachs and vomiting - severe cases of AMS have caused deaths in the past. At the Mandara huts I gorged on all the food and fluids I could before getting an early night in preparation for the second day’s hike.

After a huge breakfast and packing my bag I left the Mandara hut around 8 am and set off for the next encampment, Horombo. 1000 metres in altitude and nearly 12 kilometres away it was suggested to take five hours to reach. I hiked along the wooded trail for some time, climbing steadily, before the landscape began to change from the heavily vegetated forest to a more barren moor land area. Grey clouds roamed the skyline to begin but the weather was highly changeable showing the mountain’s weather system. The further up the mountain you ascend the more changeable the weather becomes. Clouds move past you at incredible speeds and at times it shifts from dark grey cloud to sunny patches. On the hike to Horombo I had the impressive Mawenzi Peak, flickering from being fully visible to being totally shrouded in grey clouds, to my right.

It took me around three and a half hours to reach Horombo, much quicker than the suggested time, and once again I checked into a hut. Horombo, at 3700 metres, is where you really experience the full brunt of the mountain’s weather system. Here the temperature can change greatly in a matter of minutes. Clouds whip over the mountainside at a phenomenal rate and the difference between blue sky and sun to damp, dark, clouds is vast. It’s vitally important to stay warm and dry. I carried a set of dry clothes with my for the evenings to change into but they had not arrived with my porter and I began to get cold in the fog. Fortunately there are large dining lodges at Horombo and I took shelter inside until my equipment arrived with my porter.

At Horombo I met a number of other hikers. My expedition was a 5 day, 4 night, trip but many people often stay for one or two more nights and they use Horombo as an extra night’s stay to help with acclimatisation to the altitude. It was here I met another Englishman, also called Daniel, and an American girl, Mitzi. They had spent an extra night at Horombo and would be departing in the morning for Kibo, the next camp, the following morning as I would. We spent the afternoon eating and drinking. Just before sundown the sky cleared completely and offered us stunning views across the valley. Kilimanjaro was fully availed and we could see right down into Moshi town from our perch on the side of the mountain. I spent several minutes staring at the colossal peak of Kili contemplating the next 2 day’s hiking and taking in the spectacular sunset.

Heavily fed and watered, once again, I set off from Hormobo around 8.30 am the following morning. The other two had left earlier but I passed Daniel who, as the Tanzanian’s say, was taking the hike “Pole Pole” (slowly, slowly) fairly quickly. The previous two days I had passed the figure of an elderly American woman. At 81 she was on her third attempt to reach the Uhuru Peak. Having failed the first two attempts she seemed incredibly determined that this time she would make it. If she succeed she would be the oldest woman to climb Kilimanjaro (the eldest person was an 82 year old man) and she seemed resolute as I passed her on the rocky trail that lead from Horombo to Kibo.

I was under strict orders from Ben to take the morning’s hike to Kibo Pole Pole. The previous two days he said I had been too quick and that I needed to conserve energy for the big summit attempt. I walked the route to the final encampment far slower than the previous days but I still steadily passed other hikers along the way. Midway on the 10 kilometres, 1000 metre, ascent the landscape changed once again. The more barren moor land gave way to the desolate alpine desert region. Here the terrain was dusty scree, lava rock and crumbling stone. I imagined it to be similar to the lunar landscape of the moon somehow. There was virtually no life here except for the odd tuft of grass and the occasional white necked raven fluttering through the sky trying to find a scrap to eat. To my right I steadily passed Mawenzi and in front, to the left, stood Kilimanjaro, now the dominant feature of the panorama.

 
I had caught up with Mitzi by this point and together we hiked the final distance to Kibo hut. In the distance, from the mountain saddle, we had seen the camp and it was only around 1.5 kilometres away and perhaps 200 metres elevation to cover but when you are already at 4500 metres altitude this distance becomes far more gruelling to cover. It took us the best part of an hour to hike the final distance as we took our guide’s advice and went slowly.

We arrived at Kibo around 1 pm. It had taken close to five hours to complete the mornings hike and now the altitude was really beginning to take affect. We had covered another 100 metres elevation and 10 kilometres distance that morning. Breathing became more laboured doing just the simplest of tasks. We had a matter of hours at Kibo to prepare for the summit hike that would commence at midnight that evening. We ate, slept and drank as much as we could for the next ten hours before, at 11 pm, we were roused and we adorned our summit equipment. The temperature at Kibo was below freezing but at the top of Kilimanjaro it is common for it to be minus 20 degrees Celsius. We had to be prepared! I had countless layers of specialist hiking equipment on all designed specifically for this sort of task. I had a day pack loaded with essentials (liquids, snacks etc) and just after midnight we left Kibo for the final ascent.

On Mount Kenya I had suffered the night before the summit hike with some form of stomach bug that had left me dehydrated and deprived of sleep. This day I was in full physical condition. I felt good and as we began the hike I followed Ben. We took an extraordinarily slow pace, something totally necessary, as we had around 11 kilometres and 1200 metres altitude to cover to the Uhuru peak. In the depths of night it is essential that you don’t stop, otherwise you begin to freeze, so you must maintain a pace that you can continue to ascend at. There are several landmark points on the hike to the top. Williams point is the first, somewhere around 5100 metres above sea level. I don’t know how long I had been hiking for when I reached here but this was the first time I chanced a look down the mountain. In the pitch black I could see virtually nothing. We were using head torches to light our way up the mountainside and I had expected to see my fellow hikers just behind me but they were nowhere to be seen. We didn’t linger for long as the cold was ever persistent and so we carried on up the scree slope.

After what I think was about another hour we made it to the cave. The next landmark to reach and the last before Gilman’s Point on the crater rim, the cave was around 5400 metres high. It had taken some time to go the last 300 metres altitude but I was not concerned about time. I was more concerned with reaching the top. I had worked hard for this moment and I was not about to ruin it all by trying to rush to the top, I knew I still had a long way to go before reaching Gilman’s, let alone Uhuru. We plodded on. My feet were like blocks of ice and my fingers were beginning to get numb. I was also beginning to feel the affects of the altitude. If I turned my head I became a little dizzy and off balance. This is perfectly normal as the oxygen is so thin here but it is also dangerous because you can slip and fall. I made sure to move my head slowly and to be almost sitting before I looked around anywhere.

We began to pause slightly more as we climbed higher. In the distance to the south and below me I could see the lights of Moshi town twinkling in the darkness. Directly down the mountain below I could see the small dots of the head torches of the others following me up. I was now some distance ahead of them all. It was not a race but I was feeling very proud of myself. All the training and hard work I had put in since I decided on attempting this massive undertaking was paying off.

At 4.20 am Ben and I reached Gilman’s Point. I was elated. From the people I had met coming down the mountain the previous couple of days I had been told that if you make it to Gilman’s you have overcome the hardest part of the climb. Nestled on the crater rim Gilman’s Point is 5681 metres above sea level. The highest I had ever climbed. We rested for a moment and I took photos and videos in the dark. It was slightly sheltered from the wind but we had to get moving fairly quickly as it was still well below freezing here and I would soon get very cold.

Ben led the way. For the first time in over four hours of hiking we had a little bit of descent. It felt nice but it was soon overshadowed as we began to climb up again. From Gilman’s Point it was probably two or three kilometres to walk around the crater rim to Uhuru Peak passing Stella Peak on the way. It was very hard work. I was beginning to wonder what all these other people had been talking about the easiest part being over. By now I was literally taking it one step at a time, willing my legs to move. They felt like lead weights anchored to the ground. A couple of times I had to stop and catch my breath. In front of me I could see other peoples torches. The climb to the top of Kilimanjaro is achievable through a number of routes, not just the one I had taken, and there were people summiting from Machame route in front of me. As we reached Stella Point the sun crept into the sky casting a small light over the top of Kilimanjaro. At Stella Point I was almost completely defeated. I almost felt like I couldn’t go on. I was depleted of energy, I was freezing cold and was about close to despair feeling like I would fail. I rounded Stella Point and a matter of a few hundred metres away I saw the Uhuru Peak sign board. It was all I needed at the point to drive me on. It gave me the determination needed and some magical burst of energy to complete the task.

At 5.55 am, some five hours and fifty minutes after leaving Kibo I had reached the roof top of Africa. Uhuru Peak, 5895 metres above sea level. I was totally elated. I was so tired, I was breathing really heavily, but I had made it. I felt like Frodo throwing the Ring into Mount Doom. The mammoth task was over. Looking around me the view was incredible. Around the crater rim were pockets of the ice cap. Huge white solid masses reminding you how cold it was there. The sun was over the horizon now and there was an amber and gold glow all around. Below I could see Moshi and Arusha towns. People were beginning to arrive at the top. More and more hikers had made it to the crater rim and were fighting to accomplish the final section of the ascent. I was on a high at this point. Going down would be easy compared to climbing up, or so I thought.

 
Ben led the way back round the crater rim towards Gilman’s Point. Along the way I met some of the others I had started earlier that day with. Some of them hadn't made it though. 25% of people fail and a lot of them don’t even make Gilman’s. I could feel, after pauses, that I was getting tired but I carried on walking. We climbed over Gilman’s and then I saw the full descent in daylight. I couldn’t believe I had hiked up in just over four hours, I was very pleased with myself. We started the descent. The side of the mountain was covered in scree which meant that going down was quick. Taking large steps on your heels into the scree you can cover several metres in one stride. You have to be really careful though as you can slip and fall very easily. Climbing over the occasional rocky portion of the mountain we made good time but I could feel the strength in my legs deserting me. I was really tired and my feet and legs were incredibly sore and weak. A number of times trying to keep pace with Ben I slipped but fortunately fell backwards enabling me to catch myself on my hands and arms. Falling forward would have resulted in disastrous consequences. I began to pause and rest more frequently. I could feel the air getting slightly thicker making my breathing easier but still I was shattered. Stride after stride I carried on down the mountain and it seemed like I was going nowhere fast. Rest, carry on. Rest, carry on. For two hours this was my pattern. Finally we reached the bottom of the scree slopes and the ground levelled off for the final, short, distance to the Kibo hut. I was walking incredibly slowly by this point. I needed food and rest desperately. It was eleven kilometres to Uhuru Peak from Kibo and nearly 1200 metres altitude. So far this day I had covered 22 kilometres distance and 2400 metres combined altitude, all in around eight hours.

Back in Kibo I could hardly eat, the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. I curled up into me sleeping bag and almost immediately feel asleep. David woke me an hour later. My plan was to get down to Mandara hut for the night. Ben and David had both told me that if it was within my capabilities of getting there then I would get a better night's sleep and the weather conditions and oxygen levels would be far better. It would also mean I had a much shorter walk the following morning to reach the Marangu gate and get back to Moshi earlier. We began the descent from Kibo at a good pace. In front of me the Mawenzi peak was fully availed, behind Uhuru was shrouded in a cloud of mist. I didn’t envy anyone at the top at this point knowing how cold it must have become there. We walked across the barren desert alpine area. Before long the moor land terrain came into view. We had to climb over a small ridge at the saddle of Kilimanjaro. It was a short hill climb, maybe fifty to sixty metres elevation, but as we went up I could feel the strain in my legs. I was short on energy and I knew it but I carried on Pole Pole again shortening my stride length on ascents. We rounded the ridge and then descended again.

After around an hour and fifty minutes Ben and I reached Horombo. The weather had closed in. All around us were rain clouds and it was quite cold. We stopped for some more fluids and then we continued. By now I had covered another nine or ten kilometres from Kibo to Horombo and another 1000 metres altitude making the day’s tally about 32 kilometres and 3400 metres elevation. I had eleven kilometres and 1000 metres altitude more to cover to reach Mandara. I was on the brink of exhaustion. Still I continued. Ben leading the way we left Horombo and plodded along the rocky path down the eastern side of the Marangu route. It began to rain which made me sweat more and caused me to lose even more bodily fluids.

I think that the day on Mount Kenya when I had summated Lenana Point was the toughest day of my life, physically, as I was so depleted from the stomach bug I had picked up. This time on Kilimanjaro I was mentally prepared for the huge task on the summit day. Although it was longer I was in better physical condition and although I was on the point of complete exasperation I managed to summon the mental strength to will myself on.

The way down from Horombo to Mandara seemed to take a really long time, longer than it had to climb but I carried on nonetheless. After several short breaks and what seemed like endless hours of trekking we made it to Mandara hut. The final kilometre or so had seemed like two to three. My feet we aching, my legs were obliterated and all I could think of was sleeping. I went to the hut I had checked into, laid out my sleeping bag and fell asleep. I had been told it would be the usual 7 am wake up, 8 am departure, and the hike down to Marangu gate.

At some time around 6.15 am David woke me up. We set off from Mandara around 7 am. Ben was nowhere to be found and David led me down. He told me Ben was suffering from a headache and would follow shortly. David and I made great time getting down. I was feeling much better for a nights rest but my feet and legs were still a little sore. At around 8.30 am on day five of the hike the trekking was over. 42 kilometres in each direction and 3900 metres altitude in each direction. Two marathons in the space of less than five days.

I was over the moon. Jubilant, elated, ecstatic. I was so proud of my achievement. Pleased with all the hard work I had put in over the previous months and the apparent benefits they had had. Ben arrived at the gate a short while later and signed me out of the national park. I was given a certificate confirming I had made it to Uhuru Peak and the time that I had reached it.

The road to Kilimanjaro was over. I had conquered the highest peak in Africa and now, after months of being restrained, I would be heading to Arusha, around 80 kilometres from Moshi, for a good friends wedding where I planned to enojy some well deserved R&R (and a heck of a lot of beer).

So for now, this part of my tale is over, but where one part ends another one begins. For the next part of my travels and the continuation of my adventures stay tuned to OzBlog...to follow sometime soon

Nairobi and the Coast

The days following the Mount Kenya hike left me feeling incredibly hungry. This was not a bad thing though as on the Saturday I teamed up with a few guys from the Milimani Backpackers and headed to Kenya’s most famed restaurant, Carnivore. Not your typical travellers choice of eatery, as it costs about thirty dollars for the meal, it is definitely one of the treats that anyone visiting Kenya’s capital should experience. Much the like Rodizio restaurant’s of Brazil it is an eat as much as you can affair and see’s waiters and waitresses dressed in zebra aprons bring long skewers to your table loaded with various meats. All the classic cuts are there, beef, chicken, etc but you also get to experience some more exotic meats like crocodile and ostrich.

The following day saw the final game of the Kenyan premier football league and we decided to check out the match in Nairobi. In stark contrast to the English premier league the quality of play was atrocious. I imagine that even our local pub Sunday team would have played better and more elegant football. Nonetheless the atmosphere was great to experience. From the local kids who, whether they knew it or not, danced some incredibly lude moves to the bottle hurling thugs ion the front rows who’d put argument to the hooligans of the British leagues.

Having spent several days in Nairobi recovering it was time to press on. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday an overnight, long haul, train departs Nairobi station for Mombasa. At the hostel I had met a Dutch guy, Lenny, who was heading the same direction. We’d booked tickets and on the Monday night we caught a taxi to the station and were soon nestled into our compartment. The train network in Kenya is a relic of the English occupancy here and the carriages themselves are around sixty years old. The train pulled out of the platform on time and as dusk turned into night we enjoyed dinner on the old, rattling, locomotive. The sleeping compartments were comfortable and waking with the rising sun the following morning we looked out over the rolling, hilly, planes of the Tsalvo national game reserve. The countryside of Kenya reminds me, in many ways, of the landscape of Brazil. Huge palm trees, green pastures and village life. The train was not the quickest though and often times would stop alongside some of the small townships. Here children would run up to the windows of the train, spying the “Mzungu” (white man) and shouting “jambo” (hello) before putting their hands out and asking for money.

 
The green lands gave way to industrial sites and rubbish tips before we arrived into Mombasa. Nairobi had been quite cold (compared to the forty degrees I’d had in Egypt) but stepping onto the concrete platform I was once again in searing heat. On the southeast coast of Kenya Mombasa is Kenya’s second largest city with a little over 650,000 inhabitants. Unlike the capital there are no high rise buildings here. The streets are packed with Tuktuks and taxis and buses. There is a real mix of cultures with Indian, Muslim and Christian faiths all present but living in complete harmony with each other.  On the way to the Mombasa Backpackers, the location of which is not the easiest to find, I was shocked by the appalling conditions in which people lived and worked on a daily basis on the Nyali road. Corrugated shanty town doesn’t cover the squalor that people exist in here. It’s a terribly sad sight, like the slums of Sao Paulo and Rio De Janeiro. The beaches on the other hand are nothing short of breath taking. Pure white, fine, sand stretches for miles in either direction and the ocean is the colour of that represented on postcards. Dazzling beauty that you have to see for yourself to believe.

I only spent one night in Mombasa to begin as I caught up with a couple of others from the hostel in Nairobi. They were heading north to the island of Lamu and I decided to join them knowing I would have to return to Mombasa before crossing the Tanzanian border. Early the next morning and we were on a bus travelling north through yet more lush, green, landscape. It was around an 8 hour journey to Lamu and after the town of Malindi, around the half way point, I was beginning to wonder why it would take so long as we had only be driving for about 2 hours or so. I soon found out when the road began to disintegrate a potholed dust track. For close to five hours we were tossed around like the salad of a gourmet restaurant’s kitchen. The port for the ferry crossing couldn’t come soon enough.

Lamu island is untouched by any motor vehicles bigger than small motorcycles and the view of Lamu town from the ferry was beautiful at sunset. All along the waterfront little wooden boats, called Dhow’s, were moored after their days fishing or snorkelling excursions. Locals sat on the harbour walls greeting the Wzungu (white man - plural) ready to guide unsuspecting travellers to various hostels where they would receive a commission.

Fine living is definitely the theme or the Lamu archipelago and the pints of pure fruit juices were exquisite, as was the fish. The town of Lamu is little bigger than a sea front parade and a couple of back streets. Roughly 3 or 4 kilometres from this cobbled street centre, where locals continually pitch the various Dhow boat adventures, is the stunning beach of Shela. Sweeping around the South west peninsula and all along the southern side of the island it is a vast paradisiacal location facing both the other islands of the archipelago and also the open Indian Ocean. Throughout the day you see people learning to windsurf, Dhow’s drifting past in the breeze and local merchants hawking wares. Our favourite of the few days was Mahmood, the stoned Lamuian whose wife bakes Samosas for him to sell on the beach. Often he would sit with us and fall asleep until we roused him to potential customers walking past…he sometimes didn’t make it to them before returning to us and sleeping again.

On the final evening of the stay on Lamu a group of us went for the sunset cruise on one of the Dhow’s. Our captain was Musini. A short, slim, Kenyan with a wide smile, reflective sunglasses and a trilby hat. Along with two other crew members he sailed us around the archipelago as the sun went down over the back of Lamu. With a gentle evening breeze the wooden vessel cruised across the calm waters with ease. Several of us had a go at "walking the plank"...walking out on the balancing beam that extended from the side of the boat. We stopped at a floating bar in the middle of the waters but unfortunately there was too much cloud on the horizon to get a stunning sunset. Nonetheless we enjoyed the sailing and we had a farewell dinner on the waterfront of the most delicious tuna fillet I have ever tasted (not complete without our mandatory fresh fruit juice).

The following morning and we waved goodbye to Lamu from the overcrowded and perilous ferry boat back to the mainland. Overloaded with children, adults and the aged I wondered when the water would start pouring over the low sitting sides. Fortunately there was no wind in the air and the water was dead calm reflecting the early mornings sun.

Once again we endured the crazy bouncing bus ride back south stopping this time in Malindi for the night. Around thirty kilometres from this Italian ex-pat colony is a massive land depression, called Hell’s Kitchen, in a place called Marafa. Reached by yet another treacherous road we hired a taxi for the afternoon and wound our way through rural Kenya in the searing afternoon sun. Formed by erosion from rain on sandstone Hell’s Kitchen is described as a place not to miss. It would be like going to Arizona and not seeing the Grand Canyon. The view from the top was breath taking. The huge red, yellow and white sandstone cliffs were incredible. There was a trail that led through the canyon and into the bottom. The bed of the gorge was soft sand/silt where the rain continues to erode the sandstone but was easily walkable due to the heat evapourating the water from the days gone by.

You can come here every few years and the canyon will never look the same as the erosion is so great. Truly remarkable. In the evening we caught the sunset from the Malindi beach pier and had dinner by the beach.

Later we headed to a local bar for some drinks. The bar itself was fairly interesting as the decor was that of a tacky 1980's disco lounge and the music, to begin, was well suited to the decoration. There were two slightly unnerving issues I had with the bar to begin. Firstly there was not a single girl in the place except for Sara and Ali who were with us, secondly, just after we had entered the bar they had closed the doors behind us and padlocked them. At this point I didn't know the main entrance was hidden around the otherside of the bar. I asked Christoff, one of the chaps who'd been with us all week, about the female situation and he said it was normal. In Africa you don't generally find many women in bars very early. The ones that arrive later are generally all prostitutes as well. Hmmm!

All turned out well in the bar though and we had a great last night together. In the morning we all parted ways and I was once again on my own and heading to Watamu. A beautiful little fishing village on the East Coast between Malindi and Kilifi it is the place of dreams. Long white sweeping beaches, that give any of the stunning beaches of Brazil a run for their money, it is a perfect place to spend a few days relaxing (as I haven't done much of that!) and soaking up some sun. With Kilimanjaro lurking around the corner I was still concious of my need to maintain fitness. I'd been running as much as I could. The scorching hot sun makes it very difficult to do anything, let alone exercise, so I had been running at the crack of dawn almost every other day on the beaches. I maintained this in Watamu even though I became super lazy and spent the rest of the day basking in the sun and eating food when it was either too hot or when the sun had gone down. Before I knew it another four nights had passed. Tropical paradises really do make time fly by and it was time to head back south to Mombasa.

I had but a few nights left in Kenya. From the Masai Mara's rolling green pastures to the peak of Mount Kenya. The stunning beaches that run right along the entire coast of this Indian Ocean adorned country I have been totally enthralled with Kenya. I will be sad to leave but onwards and upwards as they say, and quite literally in my case, as I head to Moshi in Tanzania where I will begin my Kilimanjaro trek on Wednesday. Wish me luck!

Mount Kenya

Monday morning I woke after a good sleep full of anticipation. At around 8.30 am I was picked up from the Milimani Backpackers and taken to Sana Highlands offices again. In the office I was greeted by Sami. Sami is young-ish looking Kenyan fellow, dressed in full hiking gear, he was to be my guide for the next four days. I was prepared with two bags. My day sack and my main rucksack with just a few essentials like sleeping bag, warm clothing and first aid kit. Sami remarked that my main holdall was light which was good - especially as he was going to be carrying it for the duration of the trek.

We walked the short distance to the mutatu stand on Luthuli Avenue and we found a transport heading to Nanyuki, a town on the northern border of Mount Kenya. Heading out of Nairobi I was once again on a heavily potholed and bumpy road. We were heading north, north east out of the Kenya capital and as we travelled I noticed we were following the course of a major new arterial project under construction. A new super-highway linking the north to the south. Maybe this is part of the massive road being constructed by the Chinese linking northern and southern Africa? Several hours later, as we had climbed into the Mount Kenya park, the air grew colder and the cloud darker. The rain came and went frequently but was ever present in the gloomy sky.

We stopped near Naro Moru, the North Western entrance to Mount Kenya. We were running behind schedule so Sami disappeared to sort the food supplies at the supermarket whilst I sat and ate lunch in a tiny little café by the side of the main road. A small shanty town comprised of more of the corrugated tin shacks with a few concrete block buildings it was a remote Kenyan township. I was taken to meet Charles, our cook/porter for the excursion.

Moments later we were bobbling along the crumbling road around the national park before we turned off onto a muddy track that lead towards the Naro Moru gate. We stopped at a large, newly constructed, building complete with official looking gate to the Mountain. The peaks were totally masked by cloud making it impossible to see the task ahead. I was slightly disappointed not to be able to see the summit and my objective or gain a photograph.

At the gate Sami took care of the formalities whilst Charles and I packed the bags with food and kitted ourselves out. I adorned my full rain gear with my hiking boots etc. Charles was wearing trainers. Evidently it turned out that his boots were locked up somewhere and the man with the key was in east Kenya. Charles and I headed off whilst Sami finished the paperwork. The track leading up the mountain was sodden and extremely muddy.

The Naro Moru gate was nestled at 2400 metres and our objective for the afternoon was to reach the Naro Moru River Lodge at 3058 metres altitude. As we trekked up the rain soaked track the heavens opened on us and we had to spend the next two hours or so hiking in the torrential rain. Sami had caught up before long and together the three of us reached our first camp some time around 6 pm.

Dinner was a massive plate of roasted potatoes and beef and vegetable stew, ample cups of coffee and tea were supplied and fruit after the main course to help the digestion, it was pretty cold at 3000 metres so the warm cups of drink were very welcomed.

In the morning we set about hiking to the Teleki lodge, some five or six hours hike away, after a big breakfast of eggs, toast and pancakes with jam along with tea and coffee. We left the camp around 7.30 am and headed straight up the path. A kilometre or two up the mountainside we passed the met station and as we did so we turned off the main track and began heading across more rugged terrain.  For several hours we continued to climb. The landscape began to change from the dense rainforest where, I was told, you would find antelope, elephants and even leopards, to a more open marsh land. The ground under foot became much more soggy and for a long time we had to tread on tufts of think grass which were the only solid footings.

After some hours the mountain side began to level out and the ground became firmer. It was still raining, as it had for most of the time I was on the mountain and the trail was sodden with water. We passed a group coming down the mountain, those who had gone the day before me, and they looked weather beaten and downhearted. They had completed the summit hike in the morning and where undertaking the long hike back down to the River Lodge. I would be undertaking this same, challenging, task the following day. Their mood didn’t do much to lift my spirits at this point as I was getting slightly down beat due to the constant pounding by the elements. We made it to Teleki lodge some time around 2 pm.

At the camp we were the only guests. Charles and Sami headed into the kitchen area whilst I pottered around for a while taking some photos and made another video blog and then rejoined my companions. Lunch of super noodles, mixed veg and bread had been prepared. Soon afterwards Charles had already prepared yet another meal of rice and vegetables and more fruit. I was still feeling full from the previous meal but they insisted that I ate. I managed a small portion but I began to feel slightly worse for ware with stomach ache. I opted to lie down for a while. Knowing full well that I would have to be up for around a 2.30 am departure to attempt the summit climb I wanted to rest. It was already around 6 pm and then I started taking a turn for the worse. My stomach was really playing up and I had a suspicion that it might be something to do with the water I had taken from earlier that day. Although I had had two bottles of mineral water they had gone rapidly and so had both my fizzy drinks. Charles had boiled water and refilled my mineral bottles but I don’t think he boiled it for very long therefore not completely sterilising it. I had been a bit foolish and not used my chlorine and neutralising tablets this time. I got a bout of the runs. For the next six or seven hours I had to frequent the remote and freezing cold outhouse. A corrugated tin shake with wooden floor suspended over a pit there was nothing but a square hole in the floor to aim for, not easy when you are freezing, squatting and in pitch black.

At 2 am I had had virtually no sleep and was feeling terrible. I told Sami about my circumstance but told him I still wanted to attempt the summit. The night before I had also agreed to descend via a different route, the Shipton camp route, which he told me had a nicer descent. At 3 am Sami and I left the camp and headed off in the dark with torches and packs loaded with drinks and some of my remaining biscuits. I had managed to eat a little popcorn and some biscuits Charles had laid out before we left and so we ploughed on. It was cold but the sky was clear which was a great indicator for conditions at the summit. After a while of almost no gradient we began to climb steeply. The ground turned from the solid, stony path to the looser scree commonly found on the side of high mountaintops. We ploughed on. My stomach felt bloated. The higher we climbed the colder it became and the ground beneath became slightly frozen.

A vague light began to appear at the top of the mountain as the sun’s first rays began to creep into the sky. After several hours of “pole pole” (slowly slowly) hiking we reached the top of the ridge. I found myself on a plateau on the saddle of the peaks and in front of us was the Austrian Hut. The highest most camp of Mount Kenya. At around 4800 metres it was bitterly cold as we took shelter in the hut for several moments. I drank some of the warm water that was in my steal flask along with some of the cold water in my plastic bottle and also ate some more biscuits that I shared with Sami. After a couple of minutes lingering we set off again. It was best not to hang around any longer because of the cold. At this point all I wanted to do was get my sleeping bag out of the backpack and curl up in a snug and warm ball.

We headed out. The ground was now totally covered in snow. The snow had become more prevalent as we had approached the Austrian Hut before hand but now the ground was totally covered. We continued to ascend. The climb to Lenana point lead us along a ridge with fairly sharp slopes on either side. At this point my vertigo was going nuts. I concentrated on the firm ground, or not so firm at times as the snow gave way under my feet, and plodded on. As we approached the top the view became spectacular. Unrivalled beauty sprawled in every direction. To my left I could see the two peaks of Batian (5199m) and Nelion (5188m). It’s not possible to hike to the top of these peaks, they can only be conquered through technical climbing.

At just before 7 am I stood on the peak of the Lenana point and Sami took the most amazing photo of me standing next to the pole adorned with the Kenyan flag. I was over the moon for having reached the summit, something not hours before I had doubted I would achieve. The views across the region were spectacular and I absorbed them all but the clouds were moving in and we had to get moving and get down and more importantly get warmer.

We descended on the opposite side of the peak and I saw why Sami had recommended this route. It was very easy going down. We followed the hikers tracks that were in front of us and with in fifteen to twenty minutes we had already began to leave the snow covered slope and were sliding comfortably down the scree. On the way down we passed a group of English guys, perhaps army personnel, climbing towards the peak. They were all carrying their own, fully loaded, packs. Twenty to thirty kilo rucksacks with full supplies and equipment no doubt. I didn’t envy their task and just as Sami and I reached the bottom of the descent to Shipton the weather really began to close in and the rain and sleet began to fall.

At Shipton camp Charles had already arrived. He had left Teleki at around 5 am and had approximately five kilometres to hike, climbing over 4600 metres at points, to reach the camp where we would have breakfast. So far that morning Sami and I had hiked over twelve kilometres and ascended, and then descended, eight hundred metres of altitude. Although this doesn’t sound like much when you begin from 4200 metres it is incredibly tough. The air is terribly thin and I have no doubt that without all the training I have been doing over the past 6 months or so then this would have been a far tougher challenge than it already was and I probably would have failed. My complete lack of sleep and stomach ache had been really tough to take but I had made it.

Sitting in the kitchen area of Shipton Charles handed me a plate of fruit. The night before I had been rejecting food but my stomach was now beginning to feel better and I was able to take on essential calories. He then gave me a plate of French toast and pancakes with jam. Hot chocolate was also very welcomed having much needed sugars. I had but an hour at Shipton before we set off again on the next part of the day, a fifteen kilometre hike to the overnight camp at 3300 metres altitude.

The weather was, once again, appalling as we traipsed along the valley basin in the wet, boggy marshland. Torrential rain that turned to sleet hounded us for hour upon long hour. After several long kilometres the path began to lead upwards. I had been lead to believe that the last of the ascending was over, how wrong I was. The next three to four kilometres saw us hike up and down two more ridges. The rain had caused the ridges to become river after river running down the slopes. It was horrendous to walk on. You had to watch were you placed every foot in case you vanished into a hole filled with water. I was extremely tired, incredibly low on energy reserves, I’d been walking for over ten hours by this point and I really needed sleep. Charles headed on by himself, the machine I called him, as he continued to plough on in nothing but a pair of trainers with some plastic bags around his socks to keep his feet dry. Within a matter of minutes he was gone from view. His strength and stamina were incredible. Sami stayed to continue to guide me and help me make the last legs of the day's trek. As we reached the top of the final ridge the Met station came into view. We began to descend once more and the ground became firmer and easier to tread. The rain had eased slightly and just as I was about to give up on reaching the next camp I saw the green, corrugated, metal roof appear on a point perhaps a kilometre away. It was all I needed at that time to make me summon the energy required. The thought of a bed, dry clothes, shelter from the rain and cold drove me on and before long we had made it.

All the way down the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. Just as I was about to lay down to get my much deserved rest Charles told me lunch was ready. I really didn’t feel like eating but in hindsight it was essential. I had burnt over 7000 calories this day and my body badly needed food as well as sleep. I ate as much of the noodles, vegetable stew and bread as I could and then went and slept. I slept for about four hours before I was woken by Charles at the dorm room door. Dinner was ready, I didn’t feel like eating again but I had, it appeared, no choice. Chapatti and vegetable stew was served and I ate as much as I felt I could at that point. I was feeling better and my stomach had stopped hurting but I was still not 100% on that front. After eating I went back to bed and slept, and slept, and slept.

Around 6.30 am I woke. I had slept for nearly fourteen hours in total and was now feeling totally rejuvenated. We set off some time around 8 am and began strolling down the track to the exit gate. It had been very windy when I woke in the morning but by the time we began the descent it had eased and the sun was shining. As we started walking it began to get very hot and soon I was stripping off the waterproof and insulating layers and was striding comfortably down in nothing but a t-shirt. It was a beautiful way to end this spectacular hike. The sun was warm and energising and we made it down in virtually no time at all

We had been dropped at the entrance gate by car but due to the persistent rain over the past few days the track up to this gate was impassable by car unless you had a four wheel drive, which we didn’t. Instead two motorbikes rattled over the ridge at the top of the road. My bag was strapped to the back of one and I was handed a helmet. I climbed on the back of the bike with my bag on whilst Sami and Charles, with his massive backpack on his back, clambered on the back of the other bike to make it three people on the other machine. It was nine kilometres to the main road down a mud caked, water sodden road. As we descended we passed several rural areas of Kenyan habitation. Villagers stopped and looked on as the pair of bikes loaded with hiking gear and people passed by. “Jambo” the little children would shout (hello) or "Mzungu" (white man). It was a precarious ride down but it was an entertaining way to reach the main road.

At the bottom as Sami paid the drivers two locals, who had been dropped off by a matatu, approached me and began to ask me questions about the mountain. They were curious and excited to see me but perhaps some of the least educated people I have encountered. That said one of them spoke enough English to ask me some details of my trip and would constantly shake my hand, nearly ripping the arm out of the socket. The other, who claimed to be a veterinarian (I highly doubted it due to his severe lack of intelligence or ability to see straight), just mumble incoherent ramblings in my general direction. Sami was smiling at this encounter but soon came and pulled me away and we climbed onboard a matatu and headed off to the town of Nanyuki. The first real bit of civilisation I had seen in days we exited the over crowded van and then went in the Nyuni Village eatery. Upstairs, looking over the town, Sami ordered us lunch. A huge chopping board of roasted beef, ugali and chapattis was delivered and we all chowed down heartily. I said my goodbye to Charles, who lived near Nanyuki, and then Sami and I got into another matatu and began the drive back to Nairobi.

Another adventure was over, a memory engraved into my mind forever. Standing at the summit of the Lenana point had been one of my greatest physical achievements, I'm now much more mentally prepared for the bigger beast, Kilimanjaro, in three weeks time.